Hurts Like Crutiatus
by silverphyrbyrd
Summary: Seamus has established a reputation as the lovegod of Gryffindor but when he's found unconscious in a corridor, Dean starts wondering what he's doing it all for... SeamusDean slashy fluff.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters are owned by JK Rowling. Or possibly her publisher. Not me, anyway.

Author's Notes: I like minor characters because I get more of a free rein with them. Anyone who reads my fanfics of the CATS and Starlight Express musicals should know that. Besides, I like Seamus - yes, it's slash, again. I write for my amusement and writer's block relief as much as for your entertainment, but I do hope this is up to the standard which you who like my work expect from the Phyrbyrd nest. This turned out much, much fluffier than I originally intended. I shouldn't try to write at 2AM.

NB: This was written a long time ago and I have since established that I write my best stuff at 2AM...

HURTS LIKE CRUCIATIUS

'God, Seamus, are you OK?' asked Dean. Seamus looked up and nodded.

'I'm fine,' he said. Dean frowned. He didn't _look_ OK, and he hadn't done all this sixth year. He had huge shadows under his eyes, and his friend could have sworn he was losing weight - but that hadn't affected his tally. Seamus Finnegan, heartbreaker supreme, notorious with man and maid all over Hogwarts, barely spent a night in his own bed, and Dean was willing to bet this was the problem.

'You look terrible,' said Dean. Seamus yawned and grinned at him. Even his smile was a shadow of what it was last year.

'Ah, don't worry about it,' he said. 'I'm fine, I said. Hey, guess what? I got another one!' Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.

'Alright, who is it this time?' he asked.

'That sweet little Hufflepuff with the pigtails - Gerorgia Browne.'

'_Georgia Browne_?! Are you insane? Must be right what they say about the Irish - Seamus, her brother will snap your legs!'

'Nah, got a few tales to tell about him,' said Seamus, winking. Dean sighed.

'You're wearing yourself out, Shamrock...' he said wearily. Seamus smacked him playfully round the back of the head.

'Don't worry about me, _I_ know when I've had enough.'

Something was wrong, as Dean realised when he got out of bed the next morning. Seamus, no matter how long he had been out the night before, no matter where he'd been, or what he'd been doing, or who he'd been doing it with or how close he'd come to getting caught, was always back in bed by morning. This time, the bed was empty, and what was more, it obviously hadn't been slept in. Dean told himself firmly that Seamus had got up a lot earlier than usual and had made his bed himself instead of leaving it for the house-elves, but that just wasn't plausible, and he went down to breakfast a worried man, praying he'd meet Seamus there.

He didn't. His best friend's absence stuck out like a sore thumb, and he found that he couldn't eat. Eventually he gave in and said, 'Anyone seen the Leprechaun?'

'Nobody _told_ you?!' Hermione almost shrieked. 'One of the house-elves found him unconscious outside the Hufflepuff common room at three in the morning, although nobody can actually _prove_ what he was doing there. Georgia Browne's beside herself.' Hermione scanned the table and said venomously, '_Why_ exactly did nobody tell his best friend?'

'I knew it, I knew it!' muttered Dean. 'I _knew_ he was overdoing it! Why, _why_ did I let him go? Should've put a cage round his bed or something...'

'What?' said Ron.

'He's had not one good night's sleep all year. I should've trapped him, _made_ him stay. He'd never forgive me, but...'

'Yeah, well... Maybe Madam Pomfrey'll let you go see him for a few minutes after lessons are over?'

'Wouldn't bet on it,' said Dean. 'Anyway, this time she really will be right about him needing rest. I'm not going to go see him till tomorrow at least. The rest of you stay away too, and I'll tell Georgia to do the same. I could've stopped him, I could've stopped him...'

Seamus lay in the bed in the hospital wing, looking at the empty bedside table. Not one card. Nobody had come to see him; not even Dean. He'd have expected _Dean_ to come and see how he was. Madam Pomfrey noticed he was awake and came bustling up.

'Go back to sleep, Seamus,' she said. 'You, more than any patient I ever treated, need rest.' Seamus nodded. He finally admitted to himself that he'd overworked the love god status in the past year.

'Madam Pomfrey?' he asked.

'Yes?'

'Has anyone been to see me?' Madam Pomfrey looked at the hopeful hazel eyes and her face softened slightly.

'No,' she said quietly. 'It's a good thing too, the only cure I can give you is sleep and it needs no interruptions. Sweet dreams, Mr Finnegan...' Seamus nodded, reluctantly closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

How was he? Dean wondered. Stupid Leprechaun, trying to fuck every girl - and guy, for that matter - in the school before he left. Oh, a few, his friends, were immune. Harry. Ron. Neville. Dean, definitely Dean. The thing was, all the people Seamus had seduced over the past year had had one thing in common - he hadn't really cared about them and they hadn't really cared about him. Not really. Was he lonely? Did Seamus ever get lonely? Dean realised he didn't know. Had Seamus ever had a _real_ lover? Ever actually been in love? Dean didn't know. He had to talk to Seamus, but not now. Tomorrow.

To sleep, perchance to dream...

_I'm alone. All alone. Nobody likes me, nobody trusts me. Every time someone comes near, I look at them, recognise them as someone I screwed and dumped this year and they turn away, wanting no more to do with me. What's happened to me? Popular Seamus, love-god Seamus, the Seamus with the laughing eyes and the enchanting smile and the head the size of Jupiter. I've got too much for myself, that's what, and now here I am, empty, confused, with nobody here to help. And suddenly I'm falling, down, down, down into the blackness, a darkness so complete and stifling I can't even hear myself scream. I fall forever then hit the ground and lie there, hopeless. I think I'll lie here forever and rot. It's all I deserve. Then someone pulls me to my feet and draws me close - a man, tall and dark, a shadow among shadows and I cannot see a face. He holds me tight and I am warm again, safe in his arms. I never felt so safe before. Then he kisses me, softly at first, then with barely-restrained passion, growing as I return the kiss, deepening it. I love this stranger with all my heart, but who is he? He breaks the kiss and speaks softly, 'Don't be dumb, Shamrock, it's me. I love you too.'_

'Dean?' Seamus opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of the hospital wing. It was a dream. Just a dream. But where does a dream like that come from? Seamus had a horrible feeling he knew exactly where a dream like that came from. His watch, lying on the bedside table, said it was two in the morning. He sighed, turned over and dreamed the same dream twice more that night.

He woke to a whispered, 'Come back when he's awake! He needs his rest!' and opened his eyes to see Madam Pomfrey nagging Dean.

'I _am_ awake,' he said. 'Hi, Dean.' Madam Pomfrey glared at Seamus as if he'd personally offended her, then gave Dean the same look.

'Five minutes,' she said, and left the room. When she was gone, the boys stared at each other for a while, and then Dean's face spread into a wide smile.

'Hi, Shamrock,' he said. 'How're you feeling?'

'A bit muzzy,' replied Seamus. 'Just woke up. Where the hell have you been? Spent the past day or so wonderin' why you'd abandoned me.'

'Wanted you to get some rest. Here you go,' Dean held out a bowl of fruit and a get well card. Seamus took them gratefully, the dream knocking at the back of his mind like a woodpecker.

'Thanks, Dean - do you know how depressin' it is to be the only one in here minus a get well card?'

'There's no-one else in here.'

'That's not the point, it's still depressin'.'

'Yeah - been worrying about you all yesterday, to tell you the truth,' said Dean, a little bashfully.

'You have?' asked Seamus, suddenly tense. 'Why?'

'It's just... I was wondering if you were lonely. You never seem to get lonely, in all the time I've known you. Do you get lonely?' asked Dean. Seamus looked down and nodded. Dean he could tell - no-one else. 'Mind if I ask you a personal question?' Seamus looked up suddenly.

'Go on then,' he said guardedly.

'You ever been...' began Dean, uncomfortable in the face of Seamus' defensiveness. 'You ever been in love?' There was a pause that seemed to take forever, then Seamus spoke in a hollow voice.

'Thought I was, once. Back in Ireland there was a girl called Jeannie. She was a witch, but she left me for a muggle. It hurt like Cruciatus and I swore I'd never love again.' He lapsed into silence and Dean didn't know what to say. Suddenly Madam Pomfrey came in.

'Time's up!' she said. Dean and Seamus forced smiles, said goodbye as cheerfully as they could and Dean left the Hospital Wing. _Hurt like Crutiatius..._ Dear god, Seamus, you poor bugger...

Those words, _Hurt like Crutiatius_ echoed through Dean's head for the rest of the day. Seamus might have been using a metaphor, but to swear to himself that he'd never love again meant he probably wasn't exaggerating. Dean knew how much emotions could hurt.

He went to see Seamus again later that day, and got the information that he'd be in the Hospital Wing for longer than most patients - there was no known magical cure for all-out exhaustion apart from the sleeping potion. On an estimate, Madam Pomfrey gave him a week to recover. Dean visited him every day, still worried out of his mind. And he didn't know why. It wasn't a serious illness. Seamus would be just fine.

'Dean, what the hell is up with you?' asked Seamus on the third day.

'Uh, nothing,' said Dean.

'Yes, there is, there's somethin' on your mind. Spit it out.'

'Um... What you said the other day...' The guarded look came over Seamus' face again.

'What about it?' he said.

'Does it still hurt?'

'Only if I think about it. Why?' A new light came into Seamus' eyes, an almost angry light. 'Why d'you worry about me so much? What makes you think I can't look after meself?' he snapped.

'Last time you said something like that was five hours before the house-elf caught you passed out in a corridor,' replied Dean flatly. 'Someone's got to care about you, 'cause you won't do it yourself.' Seamus stared at him.

'Repeat that,' he said doubtfully, making a big act of cleaning his ears.

'I said, Last time-'

'No, the second bit.'

'Someone's got to care about you because-'

'Right, stop there. You care about me?'

'Of course I do, you twit. That's why I worry about you so much. If you had half the brains you were born with you'd realise that.' Seamus looked at him for a while, seeming puzzled.

'Why?' he asked.

'You're my best friend, that's why,' replied Dean.

'Oh.' The expression on Seamus' face looked almost disappointed, but Dean didn't have time to dwell on that just then, as Madam Pomfrey bustled in, declaring that their time was up.

The Hospital Wing was restful and quiet when Seamus was alone. He didn't like being alone, and he spent most of the time asleep. The dream kept coming back, and he considered asking for that potion to ensure a dreamless sleep, but decided against it for three reasons. The first was that he didn't want more potions sloshing around inside him than he could help. The second was that he had a feeling Madam Pomfrey would want to know about this dream - if a dream was giving a wizard trouble, maybe it meant something? And the third sprouted directly from the second. If he could train himself to recognise the fact that he was dreaming while he was _in the dream_, he could talk to the dream Dean. He'd heard that if you knew you were dreaming you could control your dreams. Maybe it could tell him a few things. Three nights running, he hadn't managed it yet. It was getting irritating, and he was wondering if he should tell the real-life Dean about it, but doubted if he could steel himself to bring up the subject.

_...Tall and dark, a shadow among shadows and I cannot see a face. Then I realise where I am. This is a dream. I look up at the man and say, 'Dean?' He nods, smiles, kisses me and vanishes._

'Dean!' Seamus woke up. It was the afternoon of the fourth day, and the training hadn't worked. 'Bugger.'

'What's up, Shamrock?' said a familiar voice. 'Should I be worrying that you're dreaming about me?' Seamus turned his head to see Dean sitting by the bed. He had a horrible feeling he knew why his best friend was there, but he asked anyway.

'What're you doin' here, Dean?'

'Madam Pomfrey says you wake up every single time yelling "Dean" and she wondered if I ought to know why. Well, we _are_ wizards, after all.' Seamus said nothing. 'Could have been worse, she could have called Professor Trelawney.'

'Oh, god - then she'd be predictin' you dyin' or somethin',' said Seamus. 'Or at least losin' a leg.'

'Yeah - so, what _is_ this dream, my leprechaun friend?'

'Hey, less of the leprechaun! And you don't want to know, you really don't want to know.'

'You mean _you_ don't want to tell me.' Dean looked at Seamus for a while - Seamus tried to stare him down, but those deep brown eyes could outstare a mirror. Eventually Dean shrugged. 'OK,' he said. 'Your dream, I suppose, but if it's giving you trouble, just say.' He leaned across for the last apple in Seamus' fruit bowl.

'Hey!' protested Seamus.

'What?' said Dean, turning his head. Seamus was less than a foot away. Dean froze for a split-second then started to close the gap. Their lips had just touched when the sound of a footstep outside the door broke the spell, Dean slid past Seamus, grabbed the apple and took a bite, just as Madam Pomfrey came in.

'Time's up!' she said.

'I've only been awake two minutes!' protested Seamus.

'Dean's been here twenty minutes, waiting for you to wake up. He can see you again tomorrow.'

'Thanks for the apple,' said Dean cheerfully. 'Bye!' It's as if nothing happened, thought Seamus. Either he's a good actor or it didn't even matter. He sank back into his pillows and abandoned himself to his thoughts.

I almost kissed him, thought Dean. I'm a straight guy and I almost kissed him. And judging by his face, if he was that disappointed about me nicking that apple then he really, _really _likes apples. Those dreams - is he having fantasies about me? Gods I hope not - I don't think I could take that thought. Oh, gods - tell me he isn't in love with me - tell me I'm not in love with him.

Dean went through the rest of the day as if Hogwarts wasn't there. He lost forty-five points for Gryffindor, and it was a good job they didn't have potions that day or it would have been a lot more. He knew he cared about Seamus - who wouldn't? Seamus was a great guy. Dean seemed to see further into Seamus than most people did, though. It was only Dean who noticed that Seamus didn't much care about himself. Maybe he knew Hogwarts' Irish Leprechaun better than anyone else in many ways, but why?

Oh, no, I am not falling in love with a guy, not even Seamus Finnegan... he thought, and hoped it was true.

The next day, Seamus stayed awake, waiting for Dean. Minutes dragged like hours, hours seemed like days, and at last the door opened to admit Dean, smiling a plastic smile. Seamus frowned.

'Somethin' wrong with that apple, Dean?' he asked.

'Drop dead, Shamrock, what the hell _was_ that dream?' said Dean. Seamus was taken aback, then he noticed the faint shadows under his friend's eyes.

'Bad night?'

'Yes. Now talk.' Dean sat down. His tone had been angry, but his face showed absolutely nothing. Seamus took a deep breath and recounted the dream as well as his sudden embarrasment would allow, stammering a little towards the end and trying to remember that he was Seamus Finnegan, he oozed confidence, he did not get shy and he definitely did not stammer. There was absolute silence by the time he was done.

'So,' he said eventually. 'What do you think?'

'I don't know what to think,' said Dean. 'If I tried getting my head round all this I'd probably have to reduce everything to cold, hard facts and I _hate_ that. Why don't you tell me what _you_ think?'

'I think...' Seamus paused, as if looking for the right words, and when he spoke he was looking at his own hands. 'I haven't let meself love anyone for nearly two years.' He laughed, a mirthless half-laugh. 'Doesn't sound that long unless you're seventeen, does it? Jeannie was around when I was fifteen. Young love... ah, what a summer, the little bitch, after four years of dewy-eyed dreamin' and a ten-ton crush, one month was what I got. An' then I got crushed. Now it's got so's I can switch off if I catch it early. Not that I think you'd hurt me like that - but it's up to you. Say no and I reckon I can still switch it off. Say yes and... well...'

'I...' Dean looked at Seamus, sitting up in the bed and looking down at his hands. His sandy hair was falling over his forehead and Dean couldn't see his face properly. Dean reached out and touched him gingerly on the top of the head. 'Hey, Seamus, look at me, will you?' Seamus looked up. He looked a lot better than he had this time last week but this time he looked nervous and his eyes had a hopeful yet hunted look. Dean opened his mouth to say something, then Madam Pomfrey, with her appalling timing, bustled in to say their time was up.

'Just ten more minutes?' begged Dean, vaguely aware that he sounded like a kid asking for an extension of his bedtime.

'No,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'This boy needs rest.'

'But...' began Seamus.

'No buts. You've made remarkable progress, do you really want a relapse? You can talk tomorrow, when you get back into school,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'I'd keep you here over the weekend, but you really won't need it.'

'So I get out tomorrow? Great! See you then, Dean!' said Seamus, trying to act as though nothing unusual had been said.

'Yeah, see you, Shamrock,' said Dean with a smile and a wave. And one more day to think about it...

Saturday morning, and Seamus was back in time for breakfast, much to the delight of all his friends. Many of them had been to see him, but he'd been asleep for most of the time, or they'd been shooed away by Madam Pomfrey, so he'd only seen a few. When the post came, it brought a week's built-up letters for Seamus, plus a little note, which landed in the butter before he could catch it. He saw Dean give the note a glance and picked the somewhat greasy parchment out of the butter tray. _Seamus - the dorm, after breakfast. Dean. _Seamus folded up the note and nodded, barely visibly.

Half an hour later the two of them met in the empty dorm. Dean smiled and said, 'Good to see you back on track, Shamrock.'

'Don't give me that,' said Seamus. 'The suspense is killin' me. You've got to tell me, Dean - tell me if I've got to let go before it's too late and I get hurt like that again.'

'You really can switch off an emotion like love?' said Dean.

'Yeah. Eventually. So it's no, then?' Seamus sighed and turned away, walking back to the door.

'I never said that, Shamrock,' said Dean quietly. Seamus' head turned, then the rest of his body under it. Dean hadn't moved, but was watching him with his steady gaze. 'I never said no. C'mere, Seamus.' Seamus walked slowly over to him and stopped when they were almost touching. Dean put a hand under the smaller boy's chin and tipped it upwards, pushing the hair out of his eyes before he kissed him. Seamus felt Dean's hands move down his back and settle on his waist, pulling him close. Each revelled in the other's warmth and when they broke the kiss, they were both smiling. 'I say yes,' said Dean. 'Wouldn't say it for any other guy.'

'I know,' said Seamus. 'Say the words, Dean - I need to hear you say the words.'

Dean smiled and murmured in Seamus' ear, 'I love you.'

'Thanks,' said Seamus. 'I love you too.' Standing there in Dean's arms, feeling like he'd come home at last, he wondered what the future held and if the unthinkable happened and Dean hurt him as Jeannie had... Love hurts like Cruciatius sometimes... he thought. But maybe it's worth it... Every now and then...


End file.
